The Confessions of Myria K
by Lilizuki
Summary: The confessions of the missing Breton mage and former Dark Brotherhood assassin who goes by the name of Myria K. The writing within details a series of events in the life of the young woman, beginning with resurrection and hagravens, as she investigates the ancient magic that sustains her dearest sister as a result of that fateful night. On Hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

Please review and enjoy. I'm lacking a proofreader right now, so please excuse any typos. :)

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**Chapter One**

While it will do me no good to scribe these past events, to be found by someone who would hunt me down or discredit me with their contents, I nevertheless feel the need. Perhaps out of respect for fellow scholars, for if people didn't write down their mistakes and findings, my profession would be very dead. And there would be more burned down farms, probably.

I will begin where relevant things began, that led me down this path. A sanctuary, that I held dear to my heart, was ransacked through betrayal and blood by the Emperor's Penitus Oculatus. It's a long and tragic history of the Dark Brotherhood to be misunderstood by the foolish or ignorant, much like it is for many pursuers of magic in the dark times we live in. Perhaps that's why I felt at home within their ranks; the shared suffering at the hands of others who would hunt us for the arts we indulge in, that are no more inherently evil than smithing a fine steel blade.

The wind bit and clawed at my frame, fragile from the recent combat that left singes in my robes and scars on my skin, and I was in no mind to let it be victorious in beating me down, as I carried the limp and lifeless body of a sister of mine over my shoulder. Not a sister by blood, but by bonds and companionship, like what is shared between warriors who have spent long seasons with only each other to survive. The fury and panic that sped every step I took seemed to blind parts of my rational mind, and if I were more clear-headed, perhaps I wouldn't have made the decision. But, that's not what happened, unfortunate as that may be.

I gazed over Masser and Secunda and a humorless smirk spread across my visage. The moons were full, and my sister had always sad she enjoyed moonlit nights, but this was a walk in their light that she would not be able to enjoy. With a whistle, the harrowing hooves of my steed came galloping from between the wooden titans of Falkreath Forest and bowed her head in respect. Those crimson eyes wept, too, for the massacre of our family. I strapped my beloved sister to the saddle and sped into the night, tucking my hair behind my ears to help my flickering concentration that almost broke with every shake of the corpse that rubbed against my spine.

My first thoughts were necromancy. A useful tool for most, and, indeed, I'd used it upon first seeing the falling form of my sister to capture her soul in one of the many gems I carried in my satchel. Having her soul nearby would be far more useful than trying to retrieve it from the Aetherius, which I wouldn't have time for even were I to somehow preserve her body. But, necromancy was never a specialty or particular interest of mine except as a supplement to other schools. The idea of spending time around a rotting carcass, no matter how loyal, was offensive to my sensibilities.

My next thought was of the Daedra and Oblivion, which is fruitful for those who choose to utilize its powers, but I never took the risk. Everyone seems to sit on two opposite extremes. They are either too eager to make deals with Daedra and treat it like taming any wild animal, letting their pride overrule their common sense and ending up slaughtered, along with everyone else around them. Then there are the paranoid, who wouldn't touch a historical account about Daedra for fear of being possessed or sucked into one of the many realms.

I choose to stay somewhere between the two mindsets, because while Daedra may seem simple, such as in the forms of constructs or scamps, every one of them is incredibly devious. And so they should be, for they've had a very long time to practice. And the more experienced the Daedra, the worse they get, until you come to meet with a Daedric Prince and find yourself clutched in firmly in their madness. Some think the fact that their influence has been weaker in recent years as a permit to mess with the unspeakably complex beings these Deadric Princes are. Their champions, in particular, are something to be feared by themselves.

So I was not eager to form a pact with some Daedric Lord, either. And the next thought was the one that stuck, so I tugged on the reigns of Shadowmere and had her double her pace towards The Reach. It was a strange place to be for most, but I was somewhat exempt from being preyed upon by The Reachmen and Forsworn by being a Breton, although I could not bring and of my friends or companions with me for the trip, and I had to tread carefully to avoid being the next person decorating one of their tents.

I don't know for how long I rode upon Shadowmere's rocking back, but by the time I reached my destination, my body yearned for sustenance and the early beads of the sun burned against my pale skin. No, I was not and am not currently a vampire. I'm simply an indoor person and wear hoods often, like most other scholars who spend their nights studying countless tomes. I gazed across the mountains that loomed over the land like the teeth of some great best, waiting to claim all of the lands' inhabitants in its gaping maw, and saw the shrine set up at the very peak of the terrain. Two women with gnarled skin and bones sat perched around the site, muttering with their terrible tongues and spreading out their infamous feathers for the cool morning breeze.

I feasted on a sweetroll baked in Solitude and wrapped in cotton and took a swig of my waterskin before I ran my rejuvenated hand along Shadowmere's inky flank, pulling threads of energy through my body to coalesce on the tips of my fingers. And, in a puff of dull purple energy, we were invisible to all who would look, and my steed's hooves as quiet as a cowardly deer.

We rumbled down the rocky mountain without a sound, with a few small rocks tumbling behind us as we danced through the Forsworn warriors and straight to the peak of their camp, where the hagravens' beady black eyes suddenly shifted to where myself and my steed came to a halt, with long crooked noses sniffing at our scent, which the breeze carried with it.

I dismounted and dismissed the illusion that covered us, and held my hands to my side, but with them a flickering few fingers sent a wave to the minds of the twisted remnants of witches, who lowered their monstrous claws and stood in a more proper stance as they took in and understood my heritage. I began to pull my sister off of Shadowmere with the snapping of a few straps, and the hagravens' made a few uncomfortable snarls at the sight of a Dunmer in their camp. They only twitched their wrinkled faces more as I dragged her to the shrine that was covered in dried blood and alchemy reagents. Spells would only do so much to the canny creatures, and I still needed to request their aid.

I explained to them my plight; that a dearest sister to me, who had been my only companion who provided such comfort as their own extended family gave them. They still seemed to disapprove. If my studies had turned up with more information on the hagraven and the source of their magic, or the specifics of this ritual, I may have been able to do so myself, as the heritage remains in my blood, but they share their knowledge through word of mouth, and getting co-operation without divulging details out of them was difficult enough. Trying to get a hagraven to chat over a mug of ale would prove more than impossible, I think.

They were swayed by my words soon enough, and the ritual began as I stood to the side with my unfocused mind. They stripped her of her clothes and laid her body out on the stone slab, covered in engravings that meant something clear to them. With a crude blade they cut a deep hole through the skin of her chest and the ribcage below, and their claws extracted her torpid heart before placing it in another bowl and shoving an item of bark and magic into the opened orifice. It was at this moment that anxiety tugged at my stomach; I was no stranger to gore, but I was a stranger to tribal rituals. I decided that I needed to investigate the magic behind this act at some point.

As I came to that conclusion, the heart was strapped into my sister's chest and the hagravens were chanting in that foul-sounding language of theirs, with swirls of energy coming to form around the still corpse, a large portion of them coming from the soul gem I gave them at the start of the ritual. I phased in and out of focus as I watched the immense magic swivel to and fro in the air before me, with the camp of Forsworn looking up from the tents and chairs of their camp in awe at the magic being summoned by their beloved matriarchs.

Then, all of a sudden, my sister sunk and slammed back into the stone. One of the hagravens gave me a surly nod and I rushed over to the slab where my sister lay, my fingers beginning to lower over the gaping hole in her chest where the pulsing briarheart now sat. Her crimson eyes snapped open, and she grabbed my wrist with the speed of a viper.

"Gabriella?" I asked in wonder and fear, my lower lip trembling like a beaten child.

She groaned. "In the flesh, dear sister."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Gabriella's visage was nothing if not a shock to me, as her eyes rolled down and she saw the gaping hole where her heart had once been, as well as smelling the disgusting myriad of aromas that sat around the shrine and the lurching forms of the hagravens, by whose wildly twitching eyes I took note of my spell fading. Nobody would laugh at the danger one of these twisted representations of arcane mutation could pose at any range, much less the flesh-rendering talons they used in place of hands, so my actions needed to be swift before they realized the extent of damage my manipulation had caused. This ritual was most holy to the Reachmen, and I had stolen the honor for one of the mer.

If I knew then what beings I'd offended by defiling their ritual, I would have apologized profusely, but what one does when your thoughts are wild like the untamed waters of the Eltheric Ocean often have repercussions in the future that you'll hate your past self. I imagine I would have done something equally insane had I not done this, which at that moment was causing my calm and collected sister to twist her lips in horror and forcing my attention to her. My delight at her return swirled into a maelstrom of emotions when I finally realized that this would be far more shocking to her than even myself.

"Myria..." Gabriella began, while shaking hands tentatively gripped the edges of the slab she laid upon. "We are trapped in the center of a camp of murderous tribals. There is a hole in my chest and a sword wound in my stomach that is seeping blood." Although she spoke with the same endearing etiquette, her throat trembled and shook with fear so great that I had never seen one to match it. I had forgotten about the cause of her death in the heat of the moment, so I placed my hand upon her stomach and wove an amber glow of restorative magicks into her flesh. I caught a glimpse of the flesh around Gabriella's new heart attempting to cover it, before being repulsed with a crackle. She took notice and narrowed those bloodshot eyes at me. "Don't you dare try to study me while I lay like this."

She was lacking in a certain modesty at that moment, so I pushed my scholarly concerns to the side and retrieved a thick leather cloak from my heaviest satchel, which she snatched from my hands with surprising strength. "Sorry." I muttered, and saw her eyes flicker over the forms of the hagravens, and it was a look I knew well. It was the look she got when analyzing a target for her assassinations. But more murder was not on my agenda. "Please, let's just leave and we can talk as we ride." My sobriety in that moment surprised even myself, as the sorrow for the deaths of the rest of our family finally began to build.

Tense moments passed when I thought she was going to lash out at our hosts, but, with a ragged sigh, Gabriella tugged the cloak tighter around herself and grasped at my sweating hand. I had barely noticed the cold since the ritual began, but the warmth of touch reminded me of my tattered robes. She agreed to leave quickly, and climbed behind me upon my steed with her lean arms clenched around my stomach so tightly that it almost hurt. As we descended the ruined spires that twisted up from the earth like the very matriarchs these Reachmen revered, they gathered in packs with curious and fearful eyes, but none drew blades or bows. I briefly wondered whether these mystical descendants of earth magicks and spirits knew more about what had just happened than I did.

We trotted along on Shadowmere's back in the shadow of the mountains against the burning aura of the rising sun in silence, as I allowed myself to weep and Gabriella joined me in sorrow until we passed a merchant caravan. We were perhaps the strangest thing they had ever seen; a small scholar in tear-stained and tattered robes and a tall Dunmer woman dressed in only a cloak sitting atop a steed the color of starless nights, but we passed by in silence and spent the remainder of the trip in that state, with the odd muscle spasm from Gabriella. She was thinking more deeply than myself, for I was exhausted and my legs felt like they had been stomped on by a legion of metal boots from riding across half of Skyrim.

It was noon when we reached our destination of Rorikstead, which was a small village with bountiful fields of farmland surrounding the cluster of houses that sat like hermits around a fire. Most of the lumber seemed to go into a manor that dominated the entire village, which was no doubt the decision of a man with more ego than sense. Nevertheless, it was a village I visited regularly for the simple company of those who lived the simple life. It was a necessary change of pace, especially when I'd recently spent time around those fools from the Synod and the College of Whispers, who felt the need to bicker amongst each other and recruit every mage they came across for their respective factions. I had a family, and it was not amongst them.

I was excused from idle banter with the owner of Frostfruit Inn thanks to the growing bags under my eyes, that heralded my desire to collapse atop a pile of furs, and so retreated to the rented room with Gabriella, where I began to wash away the grime and ash of the last long day with a rag. Gabriella found a sturdy stool in the corner and began to rummage through my bags for something that could fit her lanky form. "I was meant to die, today." She startled me out of my quiet reverie with her dulcet tones, as I felt her gaze burn into the back of my neck like a brand. "And although the method was an unusual decision, I thank you for the gesture. I couldn't ask for a better sister."

I hadn't expected her to take it so well, for I wasn't sure how I was taking my decision, but the fact that she wasn't yet trying to shank me put my worries to rest for the moment. "You're welcome, Gabriella." I said back to her with a happy smile spread across my lips, and she smiled back. I finished my washing and crawled between the comfortable sheets of my borrowed bed, while Gabriella chose to buy herself a meal and take a read through my books, to help clear her own mind of invasive thoughts on the death that befell her not a day before.

My sleep was disturbed when I felt the cool edge of a blade digging in to the skin of my throat, with sharp nails digging into my wrists as they were tightly clenched together between slender fingers. My eyes snapped open, only to be met with the shadows; night had fallen and a knee was digging in to my stomach, but I could make out two crimson eyes glaring at me only a few inches from my face. My face contorted in confusion, for I recognized them as Gabriella's, but she let out a harsh breath that stopped any words I could stutter out.

"What did you do to me?" Gabriella's whispers were like a chill of ice in my heart. They seemed so full of hatred that it broke my heart just to hear them coming from her lips, along with the first drop of blood to be spilled that night, as it slipped from my neck and along the metal of my own dagger. "This maddening heart where my own used to be, this strength in my bones that I didn't have before, and, for once, I feel like seeing sanguine liquids spill across the ground just to know that I can. Did you have any idea what you were doing? Did you even think, for a second, how this might make me feel?" She stopped speaking for another painful moment. "Do you know how much I want to drive this dagger into your throat?"

Words spilled out of my throat without much control. Never, before that moment, had I felt such a tearing in my soul as to see a member of my family hating me with such effort. Perhaps there was something in her eyes that stopped me from swinging my head and letting the edge of the dagger do its job, so I began talking anyway. "I don't know...I didn't know any of it, or what I was doing. I only saw that monstrous man drive a sword through your stomach and acted on the instinct that I could save you from death. I couldn't let you go. I didn't want to let anyone go, not since our family has been slaughtered all across the world. I watched as Arnbjorn was slaughtered and kicked into the flames, I watched as the sanctuary in Evermore Rock burned and split apart and heard the screams of my sisters and brothers as they were stolen from me. From us. I know what it's like to feel a change so great that it tears apart your world and jams it back together, and I'm going to be here to help you for every step you take, Gabriella. You're most of the only family I have left, and I will..." She tilted her head to the side, like a curious predator. "I don't know what I'll do, but I'll do everything I can for it. Whatever way their magic is trying to twist you, I will reverse. I swear."

There were a few moments where, between my sobs, I thought I might die to a final betrayal that matched all of those in my life so far. But Gabriella's chilling eyes began to soften as she saw the tears rolling down my cheeks until there were no more left to cry, and she let the dagger slip from her fingers. Her soft lips kissed my forehead and she gripped my hands in hers. I don't know for how long I laid there until falling into slumber, but my sleep was anything but restful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The next morning, I awoke to the scents of freshly baked rough bread and the characteristic tang of Nordic whey cheese, that assaulted by nose like a charging horse. Nordic dishes were a rare treat in High Rock, and while I would normally appreciate the chance to try some, my last few months spent in Skyrim had caused a distaste for the overwhelming odors of their cooking, which had only abated with the rare dish taken from a foreign caravan or the sweetrolls baked in Solitude.

At least it had taken away that farm smell. The interruption of the night was still on my mind, and as I saw Gabriella sitting in the corner of the room I was reminded again of the dagger that was put to my throat, which now seemed to be sheathed in the belt that seemed to hold no purpose other than to look good. She'd taken a pair of my leather pants and replaced the silk strings that held them together with string taken from the drawers to make them better fit her, and one of my larger tunics covered her torso. There was an emptied plate and two discarded bottles of mead by her feet as she flipped through one of my many books.

"Were you hungry?" I asked as I pulled my drowsy form out of the itchy bedsheets and gestured to the discarded cutlery. I would be lying if I said I wasn't afraid of Gabriella at that point in time. Never before had she done such a thing to me, but I had seen her do many things to others where they would not have escaped with their lives. But they had deserved their fate, and she thought I deserved it too, late in the hours of the night before. Would she do it again? Were the magicks of those wicked hagravens driving her mad? Did I give myself too much credit, in my mastery of illusions, and they'd tricked me in turn? All of these thoughts raced on my mind. A grumbling in my gut told me that I would find at soon enough.

Gabriella chuckled with the fairness of a sprite and turned around in her seat, placing her chin upon her hand and smiling softly at me. "That would be a fair assumption, wouldn't it? I bought some for you, but it seems I was too famished to spare any. I apologize." Although her tongue spoke with the charm of a bard, I could spot the tells of her act with ease, and the haunted glaze in her eyes that told me she regretted her actions. It put me at ease more than her words, that she would still be able to show weakness at this point.

I offered a smile in return as I pulled on a spare set of robes and tossed my tattered ones into a basket; the people of Rorikstead could probably salvage some materials from them. "That's alright. How are you feeling?" I asked in return while I counted my coin. There would be enough to last me for a while, but with the lack of oncoming funds from my career, I would need to find some other way to pay for traveling.

"I am...worried, Myria." Gabriella admitted with no small amount of shame. Her auburn hair was pulled out her eyes by a ribbon, which let me see each subtle movement of their piercing depths with impunity. This was how she looked when she was planning, but she was stuck. "I know almost nothing of magic, save for enchanting things with scrolls created by those who do. My life is quite literally in your hands, and I feel vulnerable for it. Something I have not felt for an uncomfortably long time."

I reached out, with my alchemy-stained fingertips, and cupped my sister's cheek in my hand. "I promised I would take care of you, and I'm a woman of my word. If you can't trust that, then I'll wager my original copies of Fates Or Faeries."

"Now I know you're lying." Gabriella scoffed with a smile in her eyes, before she kissed the back of my hand and met my eyes. "We'd best get started soon, sister. I'd like something sturdier than crude straps keeping my heart in." With that, she gestured to a tankard of water sitting above a dwindling fire, where a needle floated on the surface.

I grimaced at the thought of what she had planned and placed my hand on the doorknob. "Let me get some breakfast and some thread, then we can start sowing up the wound." She nodded, so I left the room and approached the bar once again, where the owner of the inn was snoozing in his chair with a plate of food next to his ugly bald head. I rapped softly on the counter beside him and cleared my throat, which woke the Nord with a startle as he realized where he was. "Good morning, Mralki." I greeted him with a smile, nevertheless. Being polite was a large part of my life, for it got me things and friends I would never have gotten otherwise, even from those who treated me with cold hearts, if I just played their little game. "The son been bothering you about adventuring, again?"

He gave a shake of his head to clear it and looked up at me with a weary smile. "Aye, but I got him to sit down and listen to reason for a bit. How's the courier life been treatin' you, Elyn?" A necessarily lie, when in a place like Rorikstead and when you're a mage, is about your career and your name. They wouldn't try to lynch a mage just for being there, but as I said before, trust is very important in a place like this. The names are a lie all across Skyrim, for my name which I keep reserved only for my family. It worked surprisingly well, for there was no lack of hooded figures in Skyrim, and the dilution of information across holds generally kept anything more specific forgotten or changed.

"It's been well enough, and my horse is still going strong." I said, as I watched the man yell into the kitchen for another plate of food. "I ran into some trouble yesterday with my friend in the room, there. She wasn't much trouble, was she?" It was something of a worry, considering that Gabriella had no weapons of her own with her, and it's easy to steal from villagers if one has a mind to do it.

"She was polite enough, I suppose, for a dark elf." He shrugged in response as his son came in with a plate and smiled at me as he slipped it across the table. "Stop making fancy eyes at our guest." Mralki gruffly chided, which sent his son back into the kitchen with a meek few steps and made me laugh slightly at the scene. I had to wonder how Mralki had ever managed to get a woman to share a bed with him, and where she'd gone after giving birth to their son. The boy knew how to make fancy eyes, so that was an improvement over the dry faced man before me. "Looked a bit...disturbed, if you don't mind me mentioning it. How did y'get into that state?"

"Some bandits attacked us while we were going around a mountain pass, down from Markarth." The meal looked nice enough, but it would have been better if the door to the kitchen had been closed. I still have never learned what it is with some people and their refusal to install doors where they're needed, for these buildings were built into the ground to conserve heat, so they wouldn't lose any of it by not leaving the door wide open to smell the stench of spitting hot cow fat. "I'd warn the guards about it if I were you, Mralki. They seem to be getting braver every time I go past."

The man chuckled to himself as he passed me a bottle of mead from beneath the counter. "That'd be those Forsworn, Elyn."

"Really? I've never heard of them... Oh well." I said, as I took the bottle and plate for myself. I talked some thread out of the man before I could return to my rented room, where Gabriella was lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling while she waited. I finished my meal quickly, before I threaded the warm needle and took a seat on a stool pulled up beside the bed. The briarheart was still pulsing softly as it ever did, but it took some effort to be able to look at everything surrounding it without bile rising in my throat. It was disgusting. "This is going to hurt, Gabriella... Are you ready?" My hands were shaking with uncertainty.

There was a moment of silence where I thought she would back out. "I know." Was all she said. I got to work slowly, as I tried as gently as I could to remove the straps that were keeping the heart in, tearing a small piece of flesh off with each one removed. Gabriella winced and dug her teeth into her lip with each one taken off, but she refused to cry even as I threw the last strap away and the area around her briarheart was covered in holes where they'd been nailed in. She finally began to talk as I began to use the needle to sew the flesh back together, though her voice was weak and shaky from the blood that was seeping from her wounds, which was barely kept at bay by the siphon of restorative magicks I was generating for her. "I was thinking. Why do you trust Dunmer?"

"Maybe because you're pretty?" I replied before sticking my tongue between my teeth in concentration once again. I knew what she was talking about, of course. How could I forget?

"While true, you're avoiding my question." Gabriella grunted as I moved on to the next stitch of her dusky blue flesh. The thread was thin enough to not be garish, but I can't imagine having it being pulled through one's flesh being pleasant. "That woman betrayed not only the family, but you personally. Anyone else would have nurtured a grudge that burned darkly enough to last their entire life, but not you. Why do you work so happily with me, or anyone else of my race?" Though I loved my dear sister, her tenacity was both a blessing and a curse. Particularly when she raised questions about my past that I wasn't happy to share with myself.

"There's enough hate in the world." I answered vaguely. Gabriella would have to outmaneuver me in conversation before she could get a straight answer to that question, because I was evasive and foolish. "I don't want to add to it, so why don't you stop questioning me while I have a sharp object and your unarmored body?" I was only teasing, but the threat was enough to let her know that I didn't want to talk about it. Not while my emotions were already running high from all that had happened.

So she chuckled to herself and stayed silent until I snapped off the last of the thread. Her gaping wound was now a rather large scar across her chest, and as I sat back with a smile about my nifty handiwork, Gabriella pulled her tunic on again. "Thank you, Myria. Are we going to stay in this dreadfully boring village now, or are we going to go and kill something already?"

I, blissfully and ignorantly, ignored her final comment and smiled. "We're going to visit a friend of mine who knows a little something about Hagraven magic, in the Rift."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

We set out soon after sealing the lacerated flesh of Gabriella's chest, as soon as she'd stopped twitching from the pain that still reverberated through her nerves. We rode atop my steed with a small farewell to the people of Rorikstead, some of whom watched as our silhouette slipped across the sun-tipped horizon. Small things make up the bulk of our conversation, as we traversed the worn roads of Whiterun, which was perhaps the only thing that could take our minds from the impending task, which would have dominated our minds thoroughly on the rugged terrains of Skyrim, where the only sounds were struggling winds and crooning wild animals at their young.

"You forgot to meditate, yesterday." Gabriella informed me as we took a break from the ride, sitting on the edge of a hill that overlooked one of the many blue-black lakes scattered across the province, with deceitful depth for any who would dare to take a dive. I reacted to the reminder with a mild thanks and smile, although it sent a chill to my core for reasons that will not yet be imparted. I took that chance to meditate myself, no longer distracted by exhaustion or death for a brief moment, while I explained to my Dunmer sister who we would be visiting.

In some of the earlier years of Skyrim, and before a time when I was forced to stay thanks to the duty I owed my beloved family, I would use my talents to sneak into the lairs of outlaw mages or witches, through charm or the guise of shadows. On most of these trips, I would escape with one or two lost eyebrows and a new book of arcana to add to my blooming collection. It was on the 2nd of Mid Year, a warm night that even today stays firmly in my memory, that I was sneaking in to a particularly tall tower in the Rift, and my entry had not been perfect thanks to a wager with a Nord in Riften that left me in an inebriated state, but also a few pouches of septims richer.

In my stumbling around a chamber devoid of life, but brimming with books and reagents, I must have made more noise than I could notice, as I was soon found by one of the inhabitants of the tower. She was a mage who went by the name of Illia, born from Cyrodiil but in Skyrim thanks to the wishes of her mother, who she then sought help to defeat and stop the murder of an innocent person. While no more innocent than the next killer or thief, I realized with swift horror that I could just have easily been found by one of the less merciful inhabitants of the tower, and agreed to aid the merciful witch. As soon as I had regained all of my faculties, of course.

After patiently letting me rest in her quarters, Illia brought me through the halls of that tower and past the inhabitants who spoke of things horrid enough that even I will not describe in detail on these pages. Though the witches and hagravens gave me curious and unsettling looks, it took only a few words from my newly-made ally to convince them I was to be the sacrifice, and, during those intervals, I pondered what life would have been like for her. Living among these things so far removed from simple empathy was a thought I couldn't comprehend, or didn't want to. Nevertheless, we soon made it through the halls littered with grotesque effigies and to the top of the tower, where we slew her mother before I could be murdered, despite the moments where I thought I had been betrayed as I sat defenseless before her mother.

After that, we became fast friends thanks to further trials involving clearing out the tower and other matronly figures, so I left her to clean up the tower and would visit occasionally, to share stories and drinks. Gabriella asked me why I hadn't told her the story before, and I explained that it was a very eventful week, when I met Illia, and that she would simply ask to hear it all, which I wasn't willing to do at the time. She did ask to hear the rest of the story, and I wasn't wiling to share it, so we took up saddle again while she chided me with a smirk for keeping secrets yet again.

We arrived at the tower after another stop in Riverwood along the way, where Gabriella made us a few extra coins by working at the lumber mill, strangely infused with energy as she was with her new heart. The Rift was, and indeed still is, my least favorite part of Tamriel. Spiders are evil things, and it is my firmly held belief that they are the work of Mehrunes Dagon, to destroy the bedsheets of young children. And the Rift has more of them than anywhere else in Skyrim, but my destruction magicks fare as well against them as any other creature.

I left Shadowmere to guard the path to Darklight Tower for whatever dangers might come, though I was sure Illia would have her own defenses in good shape, and we approached the door to the tower with a firm rap on the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Myself and my sister stood beneath the gnarled shadows of the Rift's twisted tree trunks and flora that surrounded the largely abandoned tower for some time, while the insects and otherwise scuttled, buzzed, and chirped knowingly in hidden crevices in a chorus of arthropodous verse. Living alone in a tower is perhaps one of the worst things I could imagine, for although there would be none to intrude on your privacy, you would also miss the door and have bandits coming round to see if it's available for their operations. Nevertheless, we did not wait long with our impatient tapping of feet against the rugged stone.

The large oaken door groaned open with the straining of iron and the sigh of our host as she muttered something about nord architecture, to reveal Illia dressed in pale yellow attire that mimicked the glow of a torchbug that danced effervescently in the morning mists. Though her face was as classically pretty as it had been the last time I saw her, the former witch's hair was frayed in all directions and blocked some of the torchlight from inside the tower. "Oh, hello." She greeted us with a smile brightening up her haggard face, for it seemed we'd interrupted a nap or otherwise. "Myria, and you must be Gabriella." She noted, with a look that seemed quite judgmental of my sister, but removed the thought swiftly and stood aside the doorway. "Please, come in. I haven't had guests in some time."

"Good day, Illia." I greeted my old friend with an embrace of her taller form, and noted the stench of day old clothes on the ruffled robes she wore; we had most definitely invaded on some sort of rest. "Yes, this is my sister, Gabriella. Gabriella, this is Illia, who I told you about yesterday." I introduced the two of them, and Gabriella smiled her wicked smile of charm. How she managed to switch from open and caring to charming and introverted so easily was something I had been impressed with on our first meeting, because I hadn't met somebody else who could do such a thing before her, save for my mentor. Apparently, it was something of a dunmer specialty.

Their greeting was cordial and Illia was somewhat impressed by the social maneuvering of my sister, though I could do nothing but notice the narrowed eyes of somebody inspecting a subject. It was the gaze of somebody learned in magick who suspect another of using illusions, that always carry some signature effect dependent on the caster. Of course, a skilled illusionist could hide even that, but Illia was neither particularly interested in illusory magicks or distrustful. It must have been the fact that, like myself, Gabriella was a member of the family. During my previous meetings with Illia, I'd told her much of my occupation and family, so it wasn't entirely unreasonable of her to suspect treachery.

We traveled up the stairs and to Illia's quarters; its confines were one of the few places in the tower that didn't remind her of the treachery that was committed inside the other halls. There were some small discussions of our trip before I was pulled aside by my hostess to ask what I was doing back after a long absence, where I explained the troubles of the Brotherhood that left me with little enough time to visit the bathroom as I traveled all across Skyrim. She seemed to accept this. I took the time while Gabriella was elsewhere to explain the events that caused my sudden return.

A dark shadow came across the witch's sand-skinned face at my words. There was dreadful silence before she spoke. "You didn't know anything about what you were doing, did you?" She chastised me with words that stung my heart, because I had done it for love of my family, but they were not unfair. Rather, it felt like pity in her voice, and it was a tone that I am more than used to. "I don't know much about their rituals... I never would have been able to hear them without becoming one myself, but I can take a look, if you want. There might be some...runes somewhere, or something, that I'll be able to read."

I thanked my friend for her kindness and mercy, for she used to share the beliefs of those hagravens whose powers I'd befouled for selfishness, and it would not have surprised me to see her lash out with a righteous rage. My sputtering of thanks was short, for the interruption of a crackling scream coming from the floors below us. In that moment, my guess was that a witch from another coven was trying to reclaim the tower and it was the dissipating call of a defeated atronach. In my experience, outlaw mages were quite fond of dealing with daedra and these constructs of the elements were a favorite to summon for their apparent subservience in comparison to many other residents of the daedric planes.

Together, I and Illia rushed down the stairs with the softest footsteps we could manage. The sound of a destroyed daedra meant that there had to be another that would be fighting, which meant either my steed or my sister were in grave peril. Neither of them were skilled in arcane arts, and the results of such bouts are often not pretty. The thought of losing Gabriella so soon, in particular, sped me on, for Shadowmere had the particular favor of Sithis as proved in her persistent avoidance of a permanent death.

As we came around the twisting staircase of the lobby, the scene before us was anything but expected. The door warped through to create a twisting passage to crawl through and the distinct scents of hundreds of different plants tingling at my nose like the simmering of iron shavings. Pinned against the wall was a woman made of gnarled roots plucked from the anchors of the Eldergleam and rolling molten magic that formed her body with a pale emerald mien, and a dagger carved from purest ebony stuck through the shoulder of this creature who whimpered in flanging tones. Before her stood my sister, with the hilt of the dagger firm in her grip as she twisted it, each rotation causing another sickening crunch and cry from her prey.

"Tell me." Gabriella whispered. "Do spriggans feel pain?"


End file.
